


STEP ONE

by a_good_soldier



Series: HANDLING EXPRESSIONS OF WINCHESTER EMOTION: A FIELD GUIDE (or: supernatural s12 codas) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s12e01 Keep Calm and Carry On, Family, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 20:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8299783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_good_soldier/pseuds/a_good_soldier
Summary: In which Dean Winchester realizes he doesn't have to fight for scraps of affection. Takes a bit to get there, though.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe i started watching supernatural again. i haven't seen the last half of season 8, any of seasons 9 or 10, or most of season 11, but i've watched the last 3 eps of s11 and the first ep of s12 and i'm back on the bandwagon [screams frustratedly]
> 
> anyway this is just one tiny conversation although i might write another one with/about cas zoinks!! pls enjoy, sorry if it goes against canon (i was pretty vague but as mentioned, i'm missing about three seasons' worth of material, so i could have some gaps).

He doesn’t like to think it, but god _damn_ is he glad Mom didn’t come back five years ago. Like, shit, yeah, the more time with her the better, but— before him and Sam had a house? When they were living motel to motel? Christ, for his mom to see that—

 

Anyway.

 

He goes to the kitchen to scrounge up something to eat—they seriously have to go grocery shopping soon—when he catches the murmur of Sam and his mom’s voices coming from the living room. 

 

“He wasn’t a very good— I mean,” Sam is saying, and Dean doesn’t need any more context to know who _he_ is, or what he wasn’t very good at being. Christ, Sammy, that’s Mary’s _husband_ you’re talking about. “Sorry,” Sam goes on, “I didn’t mean to—”

 

“It’s fine,” Mary— _Mom—_ says, very obviously _not_ fine. “I know— I don’t like that he brought you into this life. But I know Dean likes it.”

 

“ _Likes_ it?” Sam says, disbelieving. Dean has to figure out a way to get in there and break up this conversation, stat. “He— what Dad did to him—”

 

And that’s enough, because like hell is Dean gonna let his mom think John was abusive, or something like that. He barges in with two cups of coffee, not even bothering to pretend he wasn’t listening in. “Dad didn’t do anything to either of us, Sammy,” Dean says, quietly, hoping like hell he doesn’t start an argument.

 

Mom frowns at him. “Dean, what is Sam talking about?”

 

“I—”

 

“We had it rough, I won’t deny that,” Dean says, hoping this concession will be enough to end this line of questioning. “It’s hard to be a hunter and raise two kids. But Dad never laid a hand on either of us, and he never put us in danger.”

 

“Dean, you had to _hustle pool to pay for food_ because Dad would leave his twelve and eight year old kids alone in a motel for weeks at a time!” _Christ_ , Sam. “He told you that the whole point of your life was to take care of me, right, and you weren't supposed to, shit, I don't know, have feelings? Get mad about anything? Christ, Dean, a six year old shouldn’t be forced to be a parent—”

 

“Sam, come on,” Dean interrupts, hoping his mom won’t pry any more. Jesus, he let that go on way too long. “What’s the friggin’ point of bringing this up, anyway?” He knows he missed the beginning of this conversation, but it seems unlikely that Mary asked him to explain, in detail, how the love of her life screwed up her two sons.

 

“I asked,” Mom says, defending him. “I wanted to know about my boys’ childhood.”

 

That blows the steam out of Dean’s sails. “Well,” he says gruffly, “do you wanna know the good, too?”

 

“What good?” Sam scoffs, turning away. His foot is still too injured for him to walk away at any reasonable speed—and Dean’s never gonna forgive those bitches for what they did to Sam—or Dean knows he’d already have left in a huff.

 

“Remember that one Christmas?” Dean asks, embarrassed that this is all he has to offer. “I know it’s probably— hell, you probably thought it was stupid, and you probably had way better ones when you went to college—”

 

“Sam, you went to _college_?” Mom interrupts, pride lighting up her face. Shit, Dean should’ve led with that. “What did you study?”

 

“ _Mom_ ,” Sam says, all whiny teenager, and Dean’s— it’s painful to hear how things could’ve been. “I didn’t even finish.”

 

“That was my fault,” Dean clarifies, “I pulled him out—”

 

“Yeah, ‘cause Dad was missing,” Sam says, “you’re not allowed to feel guilty about asking for my help when our _dad_ was missing.”

 

“Anyway,” Dean says, over Mary’s confusion, “Sam studied law. He was gonna be a real hotshot lawyer, too, he was getting great grades and acing all his classes, before I came in and—” He stops.

 

Sam swallows. “My, uh.” It’s an old wound, but Dean knows that sometimes those are the ones that hurt the worst. “My girlfriend. She died. It was the same thing that— that killed you, Mom.”

 

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” Mom says. “I’m so sorry that happened.”

 

Sam rubs the unshed tears out of his eyes, and laughs wetly. “Yeah. Well, point is, I didn’t finish law school.”

 

“He got a bachelor’s, though,” Dean says, unwilling to let Sam brush aside his accomplishments. His little bro’s a goddamn genius, and now that there’s someone to be proud of him, Dean’s gonna make sure he gets his due. “Went to a great college for undergrad, did this super intense pre-law program—”

 

“How do you even _remember_ this?” Sam asks, as though Sam’s achievements aren’t the most important thing in Dean’s life.

 

“You should be impressed, Mom,” Dean says, urging her to say it. _Come on_ , he thinks, _say you’re proud_. Do what Dad never did.

 

“I am,” she says, smiling wider than Dean’s ever seen a Winchester smile. “I’m proud of you, Sammy.” Dean resists the urge to fist bump, so happy for his little brother, so glad he’s finally getting the recognition he deserves. Sam blushes bright red, and huffs out a little embarrassed breath, and Mary continues. “And what you did later, too— everything you’ve done, it’s been so important, and so brave. I’m so proud of you.” She looks at Dean when she says it, probably by accident, and— he’s not proud of it, not at all, but Dean pretends she’s talking to him, too, imagines that there’s enough love in that sentence for him to maybe steal a little bit without Sam noticing.

 

He starts to get an ache low in his chest, right above his stomach, and tries not to cry. “I’m gonna get myself a cup of coffee,” he grunts, telling himself that this time he’ll leave them to it. Shit, Sam never even really got to meet his mom before today, he deserves some alone time with her.

 

“Dean, stay,” Mom says, and he can’t say no to her, so he sits back down. “Tell me about Christmas.”

 

Dean avoids Sam’s gaze, and makes himself say it. This is friggin’ embarrassing. “Yeah, okay. Uh, this one Christmas we— I mean, I don’t remember it too well, but we set up this tiny tree, and we had enough for, for a nice dinner—”

 

“Cheerios, Dean. We had Cheerios,” Sam says, but it’s not that aggressive. 

 

“Yeah, well, we had dinner, an’ Sam got me this necklace.” He smiles at his mom. “That thing was probably the best gift anyone ever got me, y’know. I wore that damn thing for— hell, near on a decade and a half.”

 

“We got it back,” Sam says, “it was lost for a while but we just— during everything that happened recently, it just showed up in my pocket, and it glows when it’s near God, so it helped us find... him.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean says, frustrated that his one good memory is tainted with practicality, that he can’t have anything nice without it also having to be useful. That’s being a Winchester, though.

 

“That sounds like a lovely memory, Dean,” his mom says, and that’s— well. It’s damn sad, is what it is, because he knows she’s thinking about how much better their life could’ve been. He doesn’t like being an embarrassment.

 

“It’s a good one,” he says, because if he acknowledges that it’s pathetic then he’s got nothing else to lean on. “I gotta— I do want that coffee, actually, so I’m gonna just—”

 

“One sec,” Sam says to their mom, “I just gotta ask Dean something real quick, I’ll be right back.”

 

“Take your time,” she says, smiling. “Thanks for the coffee, Dean.”

 

Dean looks at her, sitting there looking like barely a day’s passed since he was four years old. His throat starts to catch. “No prob,” he chokes out, and turns before she can see him cry.

 

Sam hobbles out after him, so _slow_ , and Dean’s so damn _mad_. He gets his mom back, and Sam has to pay for it like this? He fumbles the mug out of the cabinet, only just saving it from crashing to the ground.

 

“Dean,” Sam starts quietly, as Dean pours his coffee. “Is there— is there anything specifically you don’t want me to mention to Mom?”

 

Dean’s hand shakes as he puts his mug down. “Maybe you could’ve asked me that before you went makin’ shit up about our dad.”

 

“I wasn’t— none of that was _made up_ , Dean.” Sam’s still talking quietly, trying to hide their conversation from their mom.

 

Dean breathes out. “I know. Damn it— I _know_.” He just doesn’t see the point in burdening their mom with horror stories about the worst of John Winchester. Where— _when—_ she came from, Dad was a loving family man who she probably would’ve trusted to be a model single father. There’s no need for her to be told otherwise.

 

Sam sighs. “You deserve to have someone tell you they’re proud of you.” Dean _chokes_ , because that’s almost exactly what he— “I didn’t tell her that to embarrass you. I mean, I’m kind of— all right, I’m _really_ mad. He’s our dad, and he was closer to you, and I _get_ that, okay? That’s _fine_. But I’m not gonna make up stories about how happy we were and how healthy our childhoods were and how grateful you are to our dad for making you so screwed up you can’t even acknowledge that the way he treated you was _wrong_.” 

 

Dean sips his coffee. It took him a full year of living in the bunker to let himself put sugar in it, because somewhere along the way he’d learned that sugar wasn’t for real men. Christ. Sam might have a point.

 

“I just wanted her to say she’s proud of you,” Sam says. “You put up with a lot, and I don’t— I don’t say it enough. _I’m_ proud of you, Dean. I’m grateful to you, and I—”

 

“Shit, Sam, don’t,” Dean says, uncomfortable with the ache of unfamiliar praise. “I got— I got nothin’ to be proud of. Not like you do.”

 

“Getting addicted to demon blood? Killing people? You think I have something to be proud of?”

 

“You _beat that_ ,” Dean argues, firm. “You got nothin’ to be ashamed of, Sam.”

 

“And neither do you!” Sam starts to walk towards him, before hissing and leaning back to rest on the table. Dean feels a murderous rage that immediately horrifies him, throws him back into the mindset of the Mark. He washes it down with his creamy, sugary coffee. “Dean, come on. I just—” Sam’s face screws up, like he’s in pain. “Just let me tell you I love you, okay?”

 

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Dean says, gathering Sam up in a fierce hug. “You don’t pull any punches, do ya?”

 

Sam huffs out a laugh, wrapping his arms around Dean’s middle. Dean’s taller than him, now that Sam’s sitting on the table, which is weird and familiar in equal measure. “Sometimes you just need some sense knocked into your head, all right?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean says, muffled into Sam’s hair. “I love you too, Sam.”

 

Sam’s hands pat him once, gently, and Dean takes the hint, stepping back. Sam smiles ruefully. “You think she heard us?”

 

“Yeah,” says Mary’s voice from the doorway, “I think she might’ve.”

 

“I’m not gonna apologize for how we were raised,” Dean blurts out, and then immediately regrets running his stupid mouth. “Ugh, son of a bitch, I didn’t—”

 

“Dean,” his mom chides, softly.

 

“I know it’s not what you wanted for us,” he says, telling himself she cares almost as much about him as she does Sam. “But what we do is important. What we do matters.”

 

“I know it does, Dean,” she says, rounding the table to stand next to Sam and Dean. “Maybe I wasn’t clear enough. I’m so proud of you _both_ ,” and that’s— Dean’s knees are a little weak, so he sets his coffee down on the table, just to make sure he doesn’t drop it. Sam smugly nudges his shin with his good foot, and Dean can’t help but roll his eyes at him.

 

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me young man,” Mary says, pure mom, and Dean can’t help but stand to attention.

 

“I wasn’t— it wasn’t at you,” he tries, but Sam breaks down laughing, and then Mary cracks a smile, and Dean can’t resist a smile of his own. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

 

Mary _does_ laugh, then, and says, “I can’t believe it. My _boys_ , all grown up,” like it’s mostly a good thing, and Sam just _beams_ , and Dean’s heart has never felt lighter.


End file.
